


The Tail of Knee(zle) the Bard

by chibaken



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Awkwardness, Cheese, Flirting, Fluff, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Humor, Jealous Harry, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Oblivious Harry, Soulmates, UST, cat!, happiness, ignoring quidditch, it's just basically drarry falling in love with each other and a cat, kneazle, linny in the background!, nice arms, not over Draco, over a cat though, potted sunflowers, silent eggs, sorry these tags are not in order at all, uncreative naming, wanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-16
Updated: 2017-11-16
Packaged: 2019-02-03 05:03:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12741531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chibaken/pseuds/chibaken
Summary: Being the master of a kneazle was absolutely horrible.(Or, Harry loves his kneazle to death even if he won't admit it, and he's extremely pissed that she keeps running off to Malfoy.)





	The Tail of Knee(zle) the Bard

**Author's Note:**

  * For [QueenofThyme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenofThyme/gifts).



> HAPPY BIRTHDAY QoT!!!! I can't believe I managed to finish this on the 15th. *wipes sweat*
> 
> This fic was inspired by my desire to write something for you about a cat who is guaranteed to live a happy, fulfilling life until the very end. Unlike the cats on certain popular television shows that I shall not mention.
> 
> Kneazles are cats, right? I'm going to go ahead and claim that a kneazle is a magical breed of cat.
> 
> HUGE THANKS to jadepresley and ticklethepear for betaing this!! :*

Harry was standing in front of Flourish and Blotts when the kneazle hit him in the face. 

He caught it by sheer reflex, gripping it tight to his chest to stop it from clawing at him. It was orange with dark spots, fluffy, and very soft — not altogether dissimilar to Crookshanks, although its ears were noticeably larger. Harry looked around for where it might have come from as he worked on slowing his breathing. 

“Yes!” yelled a young witch Harry was sure he’d never seen before. She had wild eyes, long, straight black hair, and she was carrying a box. Harry zeroed in on her as the most likely source of the flying kneazle that was still struggling in his grasp. He loosened his hold a bit, and the animal seemed to calm down. The young witch, on the other hand, was just getting started. “Harry!” she exclaimed happily, “I know we’ve never met, but I’ve read all of your interviews and I just _know_ we’re meant to be together!”

“Er–” Harry said, which wasn’t much of a response to a declaration like that. Although Harry had been approached by several hopeful suitors since the end of the war, he still hadn’t figured out how to efficiently and safely reject them. 

“It’s okay, Harry! You don’t have to say anything.” Harry wouldn’t have been able to get a word in edgewise anyway; the witch was speaking very quickly, as if afraid Harry might bolt. Which, to be fair, he was considering. “Obviously you aren’t going to just take my word on something like this, so I’ve gone ahead and provided proof! This morning, I fed that kneazle a special potion, giving her the ability to recognize her master’s soulmate!” The witch giggled gleefully. “Her master would be you, by the way, as you’re the first one to have touched her since she took the potion.” Indeed, the witch was wearing a pair of black, elbow-length gloves. “And now that she knows you, she’ll find your soulmate for you! That’s me, I’m just sure of it!”

Harry didn’t quite know what to do. He hadn’t wanted to be the Master of Death and he _certainly_ didn’t want to be the master of a kneazle. Maybe if he just… put the kneazle down and walked into the store, the witch would realise he wasn’t interested and give up. It was worth a shot, right? He leaned down and gently placed the kneazle on the cobblestone street.

“Come here! Come here, kitty!” The witch was calling the Kneazle to herself. As if Harry might take her word that it walking over to her when she was literally _calling it_ was somehow a sign that they were soulmates. 

But it turned out not to matter. The kneazle stared impassively at the woman, who was trying to summon it with increasing gusto. 

Harry took a few steps, relieved that the witch appeared to be too busy with her futile pleading to notice Harry’s escape. He’d made it to the entrance of the shop when the kneazle suddenly abandoned its spot and shot through the door just before Harry could step through himself. He hurried inside, then closed the door as quickly as he could manage, casting a locking charm at the handle to be safe. 

Harry looked through the window to check if the witch would try to follow him into the shop, and he almost felt bad for her when he saw her just standing in the middle of the street, looking lost and forlorn. 

But then he heard a meow and felt something brush against his leg, and he remembered the feeling of the large, furry animal slamming into his face out of nowhere. And so he turned around and made his way to the Floo in the back of the shop without a second thought. 

When the bloody kneazle kept tripping him up as he walked, he just sighed, resigned to his fate, and picked it up — maybe being the master of a kneazle wouldn’t be _so_ horrible. 

o0o

Being the master of a kneazle was absolutely horrible. 

He’d been at Hogwarts for all of a _day_ before she’d decided to run off. Normally Harry wouldn’t be overly concerned — Crookshanks was always taking care of his own secret business all over the castle. But Knee, as Harry had taken to calling his kneazle, wasn’t like Crookshanks. 

She hadn’t left Harry’s side _once_ since he’d taken her home from Flourish and Blotts. He’d had a vague plan that he would give her to Hermione or perhaps Molly and Arthur, but Knee simply wouldn’t have it. Any time Harry tried to hand her to someone else, she would scratch and claw until they dropped her, and then she’d come trotting over to Harry and rub up against his leg as if she were the sweetest, most innocent cat in the world. 

And on top of _that_ , she insisted on following him _everywhere_. He hadn’t even wanted a pet to begin with — no other animal could possibly replace Hedwig — yet now he was stuck with one who wouldn’t even let him take a piss without following him into the bathroom, or else yowling miserably outside the door if Harry decided to lock her out. He’d even had to take her to the pub with him on the rare occasions when he’d decided to join Ron and Hermione and the rest of the Gryffindors from his year in one of their celebratory nights out. Knee was like his own personal shadow. 

Until now, apparently. 

“Knee! _Knee!_ Where are you, you big dumb cat?” Harry yelled across the Hogwarts grounds. He wished the Marauder’s Map showed the locations of animals as well as humans, but the only exception to that rule seemed to be Mrs. Norris. 

The weather was nice and nobody had been assigned any homework yet, so unfortunately about half the school was outside to witness the savior of the wizarding world searching for his lost kneazle. Harry hated being in the spotlight, but he enjoyed the sight of all the happy, carefree students resting under the trees so much that he almost didn’t even mind how they were all staring at him. 

His eyes fell on Ginny, who was relaxing by the lake, and Luna, who was... relaxing on top of her. _How_ that could be comfortable Harry had no idea. He smiled at their shamelessness when they looked over and waved at him before going back to their… relaxing. McGonagall would throw a fit if she came outside and saw them.

Harry continued to look around, searching for Knee or anyone else he knew. There were Ron and Hermione, also _relaxing_ , although not quite so blatantly as Ginny and Luna. Neville was talking with Professor Sprout outside the greenhouses, and a group of Hufflepuffs were kicking around a Muggle football. And over there, under the biggest, shadiest tree, was Draco Malfoy, sitting alone but for a large, orange–

“OI!”

What the _fuck?_ What the actual _fuck_ was Draco Malfoy doing with _Harry’s_ kneazle? Harry fumed as he stomped his way over to Malfoy’s tree, glaring at the other boy while he just sat there looking supremely unconcerned, his hand stroking– _stroking!!!_ – Harry’s– _Harry’s!!!_ – pet. 

“Yes?” Malfoy asked infuriatingly when Harry halted in front of him. Knee looked up from where she was sat _in Malfoy’s lap_ — the traitor — and meowed happily. 

“What are you doing with Knee?”

“Knee?” Malfoy looked genuinely confused. 

“Knee!” Harry repeated, gesturing furiously at her. 

She meowed again and looked up at Malfoy when he suddenly stopped petting her. 

“How do you spell that?” he asked seriously.

“That’s not imp– huh, actually…” Harry had never really considered how he would spell it. “I guess k-n-e….e?”

Malfoy was unimpressed. “ _Knee?_ You looked at Isobel– _beautiful_ Isobel– and you thought that, of all things, she deserved to be named after one of the top five ugliest body parts?” Malfoy said incredulously with a definite hint of disgust.

“Well… no, it’s Knee for Kneazle, so– hold on! _Isobel?_ ”

“Yes, this is Isobel. I found her.”

“You did not _find_ her!” Harry was furious. How _dare_ Malfoy try to rename _his_ kneazle? “You must have taken her! She’s mine, and she doesn’t even like other people, so you can just hand her over and bugger off!”

Malfoy said nothing, simply raised one eyebrow and continued stroking Knee, who was purring very loudly and clearly enjoying herself in Malfoy’s lap. 

“Well…” Harry said, “she _usually_ doesn’t like other people. You must have done something to her!”

Malfoy was starting to look angry now too. “Yes, Potter. I _petted_ her and gave her a proper name. I don’t know _why_ you still insist on believing that everything I do is part of some plot to–”

He was interrupted when Knee stood up from his lap, arching her back languorously, and then trotted over to nuzzle at Harry’s leg. Harry picked her up and scratched her behind the ears just how he knew she preferred. Because _he_ was Knee’s master, and _he_ knew what she liked. _Not_ Malfoy. 

Malfoy had his arms crossed now and was scowling in Harry’s direction, so Harry gave a snort, dropped a kiss on the top of Knee’s head, and turned on his heel without another word. He made sure not to put her down until they were out of Malfoy’s sight.

o0o

The second time Knee went missing was a grand total of three days later. 

She’d been gone from her usual spot at the foot of Harry’s bed when he’d woken up, and so he’d been forced to spend all morning searching for her. He’d already skipped breakfast and History of Magic. Not that he cared about her all that much one way or the other — _she_ was the one who loved _him_ — but he did feel some measure of responsibility, and Harry would practically sell his own kidney for an excuse to get out of History of Magic. 

But Knee was nowhere to be found, and next he had Transfiguration, which was still taught by Headmistress McGonagall, despite her new title. There was no way Harry could skip it. 

Harry arrived at the classroom a few minutes early, so he was already sitting at his desk when Draco Malfoy came strutting in like the king of the castle with _Harry’s_ kneazle. 

And _she_ was strutting along beside him! As if she had no concept whatsoever of shame, or loyalty, or not-fucking-off-to-go-trot-around-with-Slytherin- _prats_. 

Harry could only stare as Malfoy raised an eyebrow in his direction, and then sat down at a desk near the back of the room. Knee immediately jumped into his lap and settled there to be pet.

Harry stood furiously, slamming his stuff together into a giant heap and then carrying it to the empty seat next to Malfoy, where he planted himself with an extra dose of outrage. 

“Hello, Potter,” Malfoy said with a smirk. _God_ , he was horrible.

“That’s my fucking kneazle, Malfoy.”

“I know.” He was always so _smug._

“Well, give her back!” 

“Isobel will return to you when she is ready.” Knee currently had her eyes shut and was purring loudly as Malfoy stroked her; she did not look like she would be ready to return to Harry any time soon. 

_I would pet you better than he does_ , Harry desperately wanted to convey to her, but he couldn’t say that out loud without sounding like a jealous idiot.

And he couldn’t just _yank_ her out of Malfoy’s lap– that would be rude, and Malfoy would definitely use it as evidence that he was better suited to the role of kneazle-master than Harry. Which was unacceptable. 

Harry was just about to try a more creative tactic — if he told Malfoy about the dead bird that Knee had been pawing around yesterday, he would probably panic and demand she get off his stupid fancy robes — when Professor McGonagall came in. 

Her gaze immediately focused on Harry and Malfoy and Knee, and Harry just _knew_ they were about to get told off. He tried to keep a straight face when he realised that _Malfoy_ was the one with a kneazle in his lap, but he would be lying if he tried to pretend that he wasn’t enjoying the anticipation of Malfoy being told off for bringing a pet to class. 

“Mister Malfoy,” the Headmistress began, and Harry gave up the fight against smirking as a lost cause, “your kneazle is absolutely stunning. Make sure it does not disrupt the class.”

She gave Malfoy a rare indulgent smile, Malfoy smiled back and said “of course,” and Harry snapped the quill he was holding clean in two — then wondered if he would get in trouble for stabbing Malfoy with the jagged end of one of the pieces. He decided not to put them away just yet.

“Knee is _not_ your kneazle!” he whispered sharply in Malfoy’s direction. Class had started, and he didn’t want to draw attention to himself, just in case an opportunity to stab Malfoy did in fact arise.

“ _Isobel_ is nobody’s kneazle but her own, Potter. Any decent kneazle companion would know that.”

“ _Kneazle companion?_ Are you even serious right now?”

“Obviously. I bet you’ve been calling yourself her _master_ or something else that reflects that huge stupid head of yours,” Malfoy said. Harry cringed. But calling himself The Master of Kneazle was _funny_.

“The size of my head doesn’t have anything to do with the fact that _kneazle companion_ is a stupid–”

“Boys!” Professor McGonagall was glaring daggers at Harry, whose voice had been getting louder and louder. He tried his best to look apologetic, carefully placing the pieces of his broken quill on his desk. 

Professor McGonagall went back to teaching, and Harry avoided further confrontation with Malfoy by staring very hard at the front of the classroom. Until she announced that they should all get out their wands and begin attempting to transfigure their chairs into potted sunflowers, and Harry had no choice but to take advantage of the noisy classroom to try to seduce Knee back to him. Malfoy had been forced to stand up and unseat her so he could work on his chair, and Knee was now licking her paw by his feet.

“Come here, Knee,” Harry said to her, bending down and carefully avoiding the baby talk that usually ended up coming out of his mouth when he told Knee how beautiful and perfect she was. “There’s a good kitty, come here and I’ll take you to the forest later to hunt for mice, come on!”

Malfoy scoffed. “Pathetic, Potter. Having to bribe your own kneazle with food to stop her leaving you for someone better.”

Harry stood up and glared. “You’re not better than me, Malfoy.”

“Well clearly you’re doing something wrong. You probably abuse her, and that’s why she prefers me,” said Malfoy. Knee stood up from her spot by Malfoy’s legs, arched her back, and then rubbed up against Harry’s leg on her way to go see Professor McGonagall. 

But Harry was so wildly offended that he hardly even cared. “Abuse her? You think _I_ would abuse her?”

“Well, not on purpose, maybe,” Malfoy admitted, waving his wand in the complicated pattern required for today’s spell. “You’re too noble for that.”

“And how do you think I am _accidentally_ abusing my kneazle?” Harry asked, incredulous. Malfoy could be so ridiculous sometimes.

“Well, you probably…” Malfoy’s wand dropped to his side, and Harry thought he looked a little flustered. _Of course_ he’d just been spouting bullshit. “I bet you get naked in front of her without asking permission.”

What the _fuck_. “You bet I _what_?” 

“You heard me, Potter.” Now Malfoy was glaring back at Harry, and he looked a little less cool than he’d been pretending to be. Good. “I know you do it. I’ve heard rumors, you know. About how you and the other Gryffindor boys are always walking around shirtless up there in your tower. It’s unseemly, and poor Isobel shouldn’t be forced to look at your stupid chest and your pathetic, scrawny arms.” Malfoy’s hands were on his hips now, and Harry could feel a blush rising in his cheeks as Malfoy’s gaze drifted downward for a second over Harry’s _stupid_ chest and his _pathetic, scrawny_ arms. As if. 

“Since when do you care so much about who’s looking at my chest, Malfoy? And my arms are not _scrawny_.”

“I don’t care for my own sake _;_ I’m merely looking out for poor Isobel.” Isobel — _Knee_ , Harry corrected himself harshly — was currently busy showing off for Professor McGonagall, and doing a fabulous job of distracting her from the heated argument taking place at the back of her classroom. “And if your arms aren’t scrawny, then prove it.” Malfoy crossed his own arms and stared right at Harry, a spark of challenge in his gaze. 

“You just want a look at my arms, Malfoy,” Harry accused, the thought making his heart pound inexplicably faster. What the hell? “Alright.” What the _hell?_ “Go on, then. I’m not going to take off my shirt in the middle of class just to satisfy your perverted fantasies, but you can have a feel. Do that and _then_ tell me whether you think my arms are scrawny.” 

Harry didn’t know what he was doing or why he was doing it — he just knew that he _really_ wanted Malfoy’s hands on his arm, Malfoy’s mouth falling open as he felt the results of all that extra Quidditch training, Malfoy admitting he was wrong and that Harry’s arms were actually very attractive. 

Yes, that was it. Harry desperately wanted Malfoy to admit he was wrong. 

Malfoy clearly didn’t know what he was in for though, because he just said “ _fine”_ in the most petulant tone imaginable, stowed his wand in his robes, and walked right up to Harry, leaving much too little space between them.

“Fine,” Harry said quietly. There was no point in yelling when Malfoy was right there. 

Oh, Merlin. Malfoy was _right there_ , and he was slowly lifting both of his hands — _both of them!_ — and he was _breathing_ , and he was going to touch Harry at any second. 

Unable to take the anticipation, Harry took a small step closer to Malfoy, so that they were almost chest-to-chest, and Malfoy’s hands finally came into contact with Harry’s biceps. 

Malfoy squeezed once, gently, and then his mouth opened slightly and he gave a little gasp, just like Harry had wanted. 

Harry was not a large person. He was a few inches shorter than Malfoy, and he’d retained his lean seeker’s build rather than bulking out as he’d gotten older, but he certainly wasn’t _scrawny_. The rumors Malfoy had heard about the Gryffindor boys going around shirtless were true — there was no point getting their shirts all sweaty when they held their nightly push-up (or sit-up, or sometimes weight-lifting) contests before bed. 

And Malfoy could clearly feel the results of those contests, because he’d moved on from his tentative prodding, and he now had his hands wrapped as far around Harry’s arms as they would go, and he was kneading them shamelessly. 

“Oh,” Malfoy said breathily, dragging his hands up to Harry’s shoulders and squeezing there too. Harry was watching Malfoy’s face very carefully (in case his expression gave away any hint he’d realised his mistake, of course) so he noticed immediately when Malfoy’s tongue flicked out for a second to wet his bottom lip before he bit down on it. 

Harry could do nothing but stand there, carefully monitoring Malfoy’s mouth, as Malfoy’s hands slid down from his shoulders and over his chest, which was emphatically _not stupid_. Malfoy clearly agreed, because he was rubbing his hands all over, and Harry was positive that Malfoy’s thumbs kept glancing over his nipples on purpose. 

“So?” Harry managed to whisper, hoping to distract Malfoy so that he wouldn’t notice how fast Harry’s heart was pounding. It wouldn’t do for Malfoy to think he was out of shape. 

“Yeah,” was all Malfoy said in reply, his hands trailing further down to feel Harry’s abs, which, Harry was proud to say, were also _not stupid._

“Scrawny?” Harry asked, smirking a bit when Malfoy suddenly gasped and jumped a bit, clearly having realised what he’d been doing. He dragged his gaze away from Harry’s body to look at his face, and Harry was entirely unprepared for the sight of a blushing, panting Draco Malfoy. 

“Uh…” Malfoy said, his cheeks getting redder by the minute. His hands traveled up Harry’s chest again and back to his arms, and Harry suspected that Malfoy was just letting them do whatever they wanted while he tried to process Harry’s question. “Not… terribly scrawny,” he finally said, squeezing Harry’s biceps once more. 

Harry couldn’t help the grin that broke out over his face, nor the impulse to flex his muscles under Malfoy’s touch. Malfoy’s eyes widened, and Harry could see his Adam’s apple bobbing as he gulped.

“Fuck,” Malfoy said, and something inside Harry crowed. Malfoy _clearly_ thought Harry was fit, and it was just about the hottest thing ever. The fact that Malfoy was realising he’d been wrong, that is. Yes. Malfoy being wrong was very… hot. 

Harry wished they could stand here like this forever. 

“Class dismissed!” McGonagall’s announcement filtered in through the edges of Harry’s consciousness, and apparently Malfoy’s too, because they both jumped away from each other at the same moment and began hurriedly collecting their things. Harry was suddenly aware of how uncomfortably tight his trousers were, and he just wanted to escape back to his dorm room as soon as possible. 

What the _fuck_ had that been?

“Mister Potter! A word, please,” called the Headmistress, and Harry cursed his luck. Malfoy was already escaping through the door, the lucky bastard, and Harry was going to have to talk to the _Headmistress_ with a fucking _hard on_. 

“Yes, Professor?” Harry said when he’d collected all his things — very slowly, to give himself time to cool off — and made his way to the front of the room. 

Professor McGonagall gave Harry a very stern look over the rim of her spectacles, her lips pursed, and then she sighed. “Your kneazle insisted I let you and Mister Malfoy get on with whatever it was that just took place at the back of my classroom, but I expect the both of you to practice today’s spell outside of class to make up for the time you wasted.”

Harry’s face was burning, and his whole body seemed to be numb with the mortification of realising that _Professor McGonagall_ of all people had witnessed… whatever the hell that had been between him and Malfoy. He had to say something. 

“Y– You can talk to kneazles, Professor?” he asked, staring resolutely at his feet. 

“My Animagus form has many advantages, Mister Potter. Your kneazle is lovely — I suggest you continue to take good care of her.” 

Harry looked up, a sudden thought making him temporarily forget his embarrassment. “Please, Professor, could you ask her why she keeps running off to Malfoy? I swear I haven’t been mistreating her!” He recalled Malfoy’s comments about forcing her to witness his naked torso without her consent. “I mean, I don’t _think–_ ”

“Your kneazle adores you very much, Harry,” she said warmly. “Now, be on your way, and take Knee with you.”

Harry scooped up the kneazle, who’d been lounging on a desk, and she settled into the crook of his arm. He was about to leave the classroom when he realised–

‘Wait, how’d you know she’s called Knee?” he asked.

“She told me, of course,” the Headmistress responded with a small grin. 

Harry’s own face split into a wide smile at the fact that Knee, despite her traitorous tendencies, _clearly_ still acknowledged Harry as her master — companion, owner, _whatever_ — and he resolved that rather than going back to his dorm, he would take her to the forest to hunt for mice immediately. 

She purred in his arms. 

o0o

The third time Knee went missing, Harry wasn’t too fussed about finding her immediately. 

Yes, she was probably with Draco Malfoy, and yes, Draco Malfoy was a bit of a prat, but he wasn’t _all_ bad. He clearly treated Knee with the care and respect she deserved, even if he did call her by the wrong name. And he was pretty obviously a fan of Harry’s arms, which was another point in his favor. 

An odd feeling grew in Harry’s chest as he recalled the incident during Transfiguration class a few days ago — Malfoy’s hands on his arms and chest and stomach, his pink cheeks, the way he’d seemed unable to get out a coherent thought. 

Yes, Harry decided, he was very much in favor of an incoherent Malfoy. 

It was still early in the year, and Harry had almost no homework to worry about over the weekend, so he decided to make his way out to the Quidditch stands. He’d heard that tryouts for the Slytherin team were happening today, and although eighth-year students weren’t allowed to play for their house teams, Harry could still scope out the competition and then report his findings to Ginny later. She was dead set on winning the House Cup this year, and Harry knew she would be grateful. 

But when he got to the stands, Harry forgot all about Quidditch and Ginny, because there was Malfoy, sprawled out on a bench with one arm covering his eyes, the other diligently stroking the fur of the kneazle curled up on this chest. 

Harry’s kneazle, of course. 

Harry definitely didn’t want to sit with Malfoy, but he couldn’t just sit somewhere nearby when his arch-rival was _right there_ looking so relaxed and petting _Harry’s_ cat. So Harry had no choice but to walk over to Malfoy and hover awkwardly next to him until it became clear that Malfoy had no idea he was there, and then carefully but firmly poke him in the side. 

Malfoy yelped, twisting to maneuver his side as far away from Harry’s finger as possible and causing Knee to hop to the ground and turn to glare at the pair of them. Harry couldn’t help but laugh. 

“What the _fuck_ , Potter?” Malfoy demanded. His hair was all mussed from where it had been crushed between his head and the bench, and his skin was flushed from the sun. He looked murderous, and it was altogether one of the most compelling sights Harry had ever seen. 

“I didn’t know you were ticklish,” Harry said matter-of-factly. 

“And why the fuck would you need to know that?” Malfoy was sitting up now, trying to set his appearance to rights all while glaring suspiciously at Harry. 

“Well, maybe I need to know it so I have some way to get revenge for all those years of bullying that doesn’t end with me in a detention.”

Malfoy reached down to retrieve Knee and place her in his lap. “If you try to repay everything I did to you by _tickling_ me, I guarantee you that we will both end up in detention for the rest of the year. Possibly Azkaban.”

Harry found himself laughing again, and the corner of Malfoy’s lips _may_ have twitched with the hint of a smile. Harry was immediately reminded of the other day when Malfoy had _licked_ and _bitten_ his lip, and oh, this was bad. 

Neither Harry nor Malfoy appeared to know what to say, so they sat in awkward silence until Harry could no longer stand it. 

“Can I– Do you mind…?” He said, gesturing at Knee and making a sort of stroking motion in the air. 

Malfoy looked sceptical. “She’s _your_ kneazle, Potter.”

Harry gave a chuckle. “It’s about time you realised that, you prat.” He swung one leg over the bench so that he was straddling it and facing Malfoy, then reached over and scratched behind Knee’s ears while Malfoy continued stroking her back. 

“I always knew she was yours,” said Malfoy. “I saw her with you at the welcoming feast.” Malfoy’s fingers were long and pale, and they looked so good against the orange fur. “I swear I didn’t try to steal her though. She just kept following me around, and she was just so…”

“Sweet? Soft? Adorable? Irresistible?” Harry suggested.

Malfoy smiled. “Yeah, all of those.” Harry felt something in his heart melt at the idea of Draco Malfoy being so charmed by Knee. 

He continued staring at Malfoy’s fingers as they carded through the long, orange fur. And then he no longer knew who was controlling his body, but it certainly wasn’t himself — because Harry _never_ would have reached over and put his hand on top of Malfoy’s, feeling his soft skin and then moving the hand to the back of Knee’s neck. 

“She likes to be scratched here,” the person controlling Harry’s body said. 

“I… thanks,” Malfoy responded quietly, and Harry desperately wished he could remember whether Malfoy’d been quite that flushed when Harry’d first sat down with him. 

Harry could hear Knee’s purring and feel Malfoy’s hand moving beneath his; looking down, he realised that he’d forgotten to let go. He quickly slid his hand away from Malfoy’s, down Knee’s back so he could pet her there. 

The only problem with this was that now Harry had to lean extra far to make his arm reach, bringing his chest entirely too close to the side of Malfoy’s body, his face entirely too close to Malfoy’s ear. 

_Merlin_ , even Malfoy’s _ear_ was attractive. 

“So…” Malfoy exhaled shakily. “Does this mean I now have permission to pet Isobel when she comes to find me?” His voice sounded so hopeful, and Harry felt like such an arse for ever trying to deny Malfoy the simple pleasure of petting his kneazle. 

“‘Course you do,” Harry said. “I… Sorry about before. I was just worried. She normally doesn’t like anyone but me.” 

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Of course she doesn’t, Potter. You are her master and the only one she will ever love.”

“I’m serious!” Harry laughed. “Anyway, it’s fine. She can…” Harry felt almost sad and a little worried at the idea of agreeing to let Knee be away from him for extended periods of time. But Malfoy was right. She was her own kneazle. “She can stay with you sometimes if she wants.” 

Malfoy grinned. “That’s very generous of you, Potter.” 

“Just make sure you look out for her! Don’t let any first years pull her tail or anything.”

Malfoy feigned shock. “I would _never_.”

Harry laughed again, relaxing a bit even though he was still perilously close to Malfoy. This was alright. Harry could do this. Yes, Malfoy was attractive, and flustered by Harry, and ticklish, and he had nice fingers, and Harry’s kneazle seemed to love him. And yes, Harry might have a _bit_ of a crush on him. 

But they could still sit together in the Quidditch stands as the sun went down, petting Harry’s kneazle, and talking, and completely ignoring anything that was happening on the field. They could do all that, and it didn’t have to be awkward, or heartstopping, or even unusual. It could just be nice. 

So that’s exactly what they did. 

o0o

The next time Knee went missing, Harry knew he had no real reason to go looking for her. 

He was certain she would be with Malfoy, who, according to the Marauder’s Map, was currently alone in his dorm room, no tail-pulling first years in sight. She was perfectly fine. 

And yet…

And yet Harry was currently hurrying through the castle under his invisibility cloak, en route to the Slytherin dorms. 

He couldn’t help it. He just worried about Knee when she wasn’t around. Was Malfoy being good to her? Was he letting her sleep on his chest again? What if he was ignoring her? What if he’d taken off his clothes without her permission and was currently doing push-ups? What if he was _wanking_?

Harry had to know. 

He made it to the entrance of the Slytherin common room, then settled in to wait for someone to open the secret door. It was just before curfew for the younger students, so it wasn’t long before a couple of third years appeared, gave the password, and entered the common room without checking behind them to ensure they weren’t being followed by any invisible Gryffindors.

Harry made his way straight to the eighth year boys’ dorm, having memorized its location after the copious time he’d spent staring at Malfoy’s dot on the Map. He opened the door and slipped through as inconspicuously as possible, although he needn't have bothered because the long, narrow room was entirely empty, except for Knee. Harry took off his Cloak and stowed it in his pocket.

Knee sat on a dresser at the end of the room, swishing her tail and staring at a bed with its hangings closed, from which Harry could hear very faint noises. 

Not _entirely_ empty then. 

Harry approached Knee quietly, although he wasn’t really sure why he was bothering since he would have to alert Malfoy to his presence at some point. He just… needed a bit of time to pet his kneazle, who looked very happy indeed to see him, and work out what he would say to–

A moan emerged from behind the curtains of the bed Harry knew to be Malfoy’s, and Harry froze. 

Holy fuck holy fuck holy _fuck_ , Malfoy _was_ wanking! Harry willed himself not to get hard just from that knowledge, but he should’ve known by now that he had no control over his body, because his attempt to stay calm failed miserably. 

Malfoy let out a breathy whimper.

Harry looked at Knee, as if she could somehow advise him on what to do in this situation. He couldn’t stand there and listen like some kind of pervert, but there was also no way he could just _leave_ having witnessed this. Announcing his presence at this point would be much too awkward, and if he just got out his cock and began wanking, Malfoy would _definitely_ be able to hear–

“Potter!”

Fuck. “Malfoy?”

There was a pause. _“Potter?!”_

“Er… Malfoy?”

The curtains flew open, and there knelt Malfoy, a sheet pulled hastily around his body, which Harry suspected might be _naked._ “What the _fuck_ do you think you’re doing!”

Harry held up his hands in what he hoped was a placating gesture. “I’m sorry! I just came to see Knee, I swear!” Harry’s face was red, and it was very clear that Malfoy knew that _Harry knew_ exactly what he’d walked in on. 

“Well, why didn’t you _leave?”_

Harry didn’t even bother pretending that he didn’t know what Malfoy was talking about. “I was about to!” Harry had definitely not been about to. “But then you noticed me!”

“I didn’t _notice_ you– you fucking announced your presence by calling my name!”

Harry was confused. “But you said my name first.”

“I did no–” Malfoy cut himself off, and the entire upper half of his body went all splotchy and red. “That was… I was… I didn’t know you were _there_ , Potter.” He looked down at his sheets with a furrowed brow. 

Harry’s heart was pounding now, and he could feel himself turning just as red as Malfoy. Merlin, they really were two of a kind. “So you… you just said my name for… other reasons?” Harry asked, politely he hoped.

“Yeah,” Malfoy answered, not looking up from his bed. “Other reasons.” 

“Wow,” Harry breathed out, and Malfoy’s gaze snapped up to his face. 

“You may _not_ make fun of me for this, Potter. _You_ are the one who snuck into my room. _You_ are the one who was standing there listening to me–”

“I wasn’t going to make fun of you!” That was the last thing Harry wanted Malfoy to think. “I meant ‘wow’ as in ‘wow, that’s the fucking hottest thing I’ve ever heard,’” Harry said, forcing himself to maintain eye contact despite his embarrassment. 

Malfoy’s lips fell open, just the same way they had when he’d touched Harry’s arms. “You… really?”

“Really. I… on the way here I actually fantasized that you might be wanking and that I would walk in and we would– er… yeah.” Harry finally allowed himself to stare at his feet. “Really. Very hot.” He may have revealed just a _bit too mu–_

“Do you…” Malfoy paused. “Shall I keep going then?” he said quietly, and Harry couldn’t quite believe he’d heard correctly. 

He looked up at Malfoy, who was staring at Harry in a way that was somehow shy and playful and the sexiest fucking thing in the universe all at once. “What?” Harry asked, to make sure he wasn’t imagining things. 

“Well, you were thinking about me wanking.” Malfoy let the sheet he was still clutching to his chest drop a few inches, and Harry’s eyes widened. “And I was thinking about you… and wanking.” Malfoy raised up on his knees as he continued to let the sheet drop, little by little. It was _just_ covering his cock now and Harry could see Malfoy’s _hipbones_ and fucking hell.

“You can–” Harry’s voice cracked. “I mean, yeah. Please. By all means. I’ll just…” Harry looked around wildly for… something. What did he need in this situation?

“You just stand there,” Malfoy said, a hint of a smile in his voice, and Harry focused his attention back where it longed to remain. “You can… watch.”

And with that, Malfoy dropped the sheet entirely, revealing his rosy cock, which was _hard_ and _perfect_ and Harry didn’t know what he possibly could have done to deserve this. Malfoy stared right at Harry as he gripped himself with those lovely fingers and began stroking. He trailed the fingers of his other hand over his own chest, lingering on each of his pert, pink nipples. 

Harry was going to come in his trousers. He’d been watching Malfoy wank himself for all of five seconds, and he could already feel his control slipping away, his hips moving back and forth in search of some sort of friction. 

“Do it,” Malfoy said. 

“Come in my trousers?” Harry asked dumbly, only realising that Malfoy couldn’t possibly have known what he was thinking when he gave a happy laugh in response. And Merlin, Harry would gladly continue saying stupid things for the rest of his life if it meant he could keep hearing that laugh.

“No, you idiot,” Malfoy said, still smiling, still _wanking_. “Take the trousers _off,_ and then come.”

Harry didn’t even think about not obeying. He’d never been this turned on in his life. He unzipped his trousers and shucked them off immediately, never looking away from Malfoy. 

“The pants, too,” Malfoy instructed. Harry thought Malfoy looked a bit hungrier than he had before, so he decided to make a bit more of a show of taking off his pants than he had the trousers. Harry slipped his fingers inside the waistband, tugging it down slowly, revealing his pubic hair. Malfoy’s breathing sped up as Harry reached inside his pants, grabbed his cock, and lifted it against his body so that he could reveal it bit by bit, starting with the head. 

The only problem was that now the pace of Malfoy’s wanking had increased, and he was making little noises, and Harry had already nearly orgasmed when he’d grasped his cock to move it, and there just wasn’t _time_ for a strip tease. Harry shoved his pants down, stepping out of them and, incidentally, closer to Malfoy, then grabbed his own cock. 

“Shirt too,” Malfoy said, and Harry made a whining noise at the prospect of his wanking being interrupted again. “Please?” Malfoy added, and he looked so turned on and hopeful. Harry remembered Malfoy’s reaction to touching Harry’s arms and chest during Transfiguration even as he let go of his cock and pulled his t-shirt over his head. If he flexed his abs a bit unnecessarily while he did it– well, that was Harry’s business. 

Completely naked now and feeling bold, Harry took another step closer to Malfoy’s bed. When no protests were forthcoming, he continued until he was standing right in front of Malfoy, who angled himself so that he and Harry were face-to-face, chest-to-chest, and cock-to-cock. 

Harry took hold of himself once more and began stroking in time with Malfoy, staring at the perfect bow of his lips as he did so. 

“Can I kiss you?”

The perfect lips whispered those words, and Harry was shocked they hadn’t come out of his own mouth. 

Harry leaned forward. “Yes,” he whispered against Malfoy’s lips, and then they were kissing, and it was the most perfect, delicious kiss Harry could imagine, and _oh,_ he was coming. 

He’d wanted this to last longer, to last _forever_ , but he couldn’t stop the waves of bliss that overtook his body as he continued to stroke himself, gasping his pleasure into Malfoy’s open mouth. And then Harry felt something wet coating his hands and his cock, and he came even harder at the realization that it’d all been too much for Malfoy too, that Malfoy had been lost after just one kiss as well. 

Harry came down from his orgasm slowly, letting go of his cock, but refusing to end the kiss. Malfoy was laughing as he allowed it to continue, and Harry wanted to devour him. He put his knee on the bed and pushed Malfoy, so that he fell backwards and Harry could climb on top of him. 

“Wait!” Malfoy said, guarding himself with raised hands. “You are _not_ lying on top of me with this mess all over us.”

Harry rolled his eyes, but fetched his wand with his non-sticky hand and spelled them both clean and dry anyway. Then he immediately proceeded to pounce on top of Malfoy and kiss him again, hard. Something about him just made Harry feel so happy, so playful, so _right._

Like he’d found the very thing that he’d been missing, without ever having realised it wasn’t there. 

“You are a brute,” Malfoy said from beneath him. But he reached up with both hands to grab onto Harry’s arms, and Harry suspected that he was enjoying himself very much. Harry was as well, and he thought he finally understood why Luna and Ginny favored this position. 

Suddenly, something heavy and warm and very furry fell — or jumped, more likely — onto Harry’s naked back, causing him to gasp in surprise.

Malfoy’s eyes widened. “Oh my god,” he said, scandalized. “I can’t believe you were exposing poor, delicate Isobel to your backside like that.”

“You were the one _wanking_ with her right on the other side of the curtain!” Harry sputtered. “She could _hear_ you, you know.”

Knee curled up on Harry’s back and began to purr, and Harry and Malfoy both lost their composure and started laughing simultaneously.

“I still can’t believe you tried to tell me I was abusing my kneazle with my naked torso,” Harry gasped.

“I know!” Malfoy grinned. “It was all I could think of though!”

“My naked torso was all you could think of?” Harry asked, waggling his eyebrows.

“Maybe,” Malfoy, answered. “Anyway, I don’t think she minds. And it’s too late now; she’s just watched us both wank ourselves off.”

Harry blanched. “Oh god, I didn’t even _think_ of that.” Knee was just a _tad_ too intelligent for him to think of her as merely an animal, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about her seeing him get off. He made a mental note to lock her out next time, meowing be damned. 

“It’s like she knew,” said Malfoy a few moments later.

“Knew what?”

“About… this,” he said slowly, nodding to indicate Harry and himself. “I mean, why else would she keep coming to find me? Did you tell her you had a crush on me or something?”

“No, of course not. I had no idea–” Harry froze. How could he have possibly forgotten? 

“Yes?”

“Er… I… I don’t think I told you this, but I got her when some random witch on Diagon Alley threw her at me and… and said Knee would lead me to my soulmate,” Harry admitted, suddenly nervous. There was no way. Malfoy couldn’t be… could he?

Malfoy was staring up at Harry, his face still only inches away, his mouth hanging open. “Are you fucking with me right now? Is this your attempt at a pick-up line? Because you’re supposed to use one of those _before_ getting off with someone, you know.”

“I… no?” Harry said. “I swear, that’s what happened! I didn’t put any stock in it at the time– the lady was saying all kinds of things. But…” Harry was finally putting it all together. “But Knee hates _everyone_ besides you. And… and she would always stay right by my side until we came back to Hogwarts where you were. And it would explain why I feel… why I like you so much. I think it might be true!” Harry finished, panting a bit in excitement. 

“You…” Malfoy looked like he was trying to decide between several possible reactions. “You absolute idiot!” he finally said, shoving Harry off him and rolling them over so that he was now the one on top. Knee yowled loudly at being displaced from her spot on Harry’s back, then resettled herself at the foot of the bed, curling into a ball. “I can’t believe you knew all that and you didn’t say anything!”

“Well what was I supposed to say! ‘Hey Malfoy, if my kneazle likes you that means we’re soulmates’? You would have… you would have thought it was a bad pick-up line!” Harry accused.

Malfoy laughed. “You’re probably right. But…” He leaned closer, his lips hovering right over Harry’s. “It would have worked,” he said, and kissed him. 

And Harry knew then that it didn’t matter whether or not Malfoy was actually his soulmate. He was happy just kissing Malfoy. And he would be happy again the next time they kissed, and the time after that, and the time after that. 

And if they ended up falling in love and moving in together and getting married and becoming fathers to the most willful, spoiled kneazle in the world? Well, that would make Harry happy too. 

**Author's Note:**

> Follow [queenofthyme](http://queenofthyme.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr, she's the best! And [me](https://o0o-chibaken-o0o.tumblr.com/) too if you want <3
> 
> Kudos and comments make Knee purr ;)


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